Resisting Capture
by Wizard2
Summary: PG13 for some swearing. Picks off right after OoTP ends. Hope you enjoy. R&R!


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. You do not expect me to because if I was J.K. Rowling, and by the way, Harry Potter and all its characters and settings are hers, I would not be posting this on a fanfiction site. I would be selling it to make money.  
  
**Spoilers:** Sorcerer's Stone/Philosopher's Stone (SoS/PoS), Chamber of Secrets (CoS), Prisoner of Azkaban (PoA), Goblet of Fire (GoF), Order of the Phoenix (OoTP)  
  


**Resisting Capture  
(Life In Hell - Life In Heaven)**  
  
_"It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."  
- Albus Dumbledore to Harry at the end of CoS_

  
  


**PART I: [Back to Privet Drive]**

He smiled, raised a hand in farewell, turned around, and led the way out of the station toward the sunlit street, with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley hurrying along in his wake...

**"What** do you think you're doing, boy?" Uncle Vernon hissed, white with rage, as he caught up to Harry. "Bringing _your lot_ to talk to us. Someone from the neighborhood could have spotted them. You just wait until you get home..." At this point, Uncle Vernon turned his attention to the road in front of him after almost crashing into a luggage trolley. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were hurrying after them, Dudley panting because of his lack of exercise at home. Harry supposed that Aunt Petunia had taken pity on her little Duddykins, for Dudley was even vaster than he was a year ago when Harry last saw him. "And don't think that I've forgotten the incident with the fake lawn competition, boy. That'll add to your punishment. It wasted three _effing_ hours of my valuable time."

Harry snorted and turned away, silently thinking what Uncle Vernon could do in those valuable three hours. Probably watch three hours of more news and eat three hours more food. Harry reasoned logically that Uncle Vernon should be thankful that he helped save money for the electricity bill and the cost of food, which Harry believed more than accounted for Uncle Vernon's _valuable_ time and the cost of gasoline. As for his punishment, Harry believed that it couldn't get more worst than it already is. Uncle Vernon would probably just lock him up in his room again and give him meager amounts of food. Knowing Uncle Vernon, Harry knew that his big and beefy uncle had already forgotten the warning Moody had given him just minutes ago. The only thing keeping Uncle Vernon from locking he, Harry, into the cupboard under the stairs was because of Sirius.

Harry shook his head. It wasn't worth it to keep brooding over the death of his godfather. Sirius wouldn't have wanted him to be miserable. _"He died in battle, an' tha's the way he'd've wanted ter go -"_ Hagrids words echoed around in Harry's head. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Hagrid was right. If Sirius were to die, he would've wanted to die a hero. He would apologize to Hagrid for being so rude when he next met him.

"So you don't think that I can make up a suitable punishment?" Uncle Vernon's harsh voice jarred Harry out of his reverie.

"Wha-?" Harry asked, surprised. "No, it wasn't anything like that at all."

"Then why were you shaking your head then?" Aunt Petunia broke into the conversation. She had been listening from behind them.

"Yes - yes, good point, Petunia! _Why were you shaking your head, boy?_ We're not stupid, you know," Uncle Vernon cut in again.

If Harry hadn't been feeling so miserable, he would have laughed. This reminded himself of a conversation that had occured between himself and his aunt and uncle. In that conversation, he, Harry, had gotten the best of them. But that was before Sirius died... There he was again, thinking about Sirius. Harry told himself to clear his head. "I was just thinking about something," he finally said.

"Oh?" Uncle Vernon questioned, "What were you thinking about, boy? Out with it."

Harry looked at him incredulously. Did Uncle Vernon expect him to just tell him all his inner thoughts? As if reading Harry's mind, Uncle Vernon added, "I'll lighten the sentence a little if you do." Apparently, Harry thought, Uncle Vernon is becoming more and more like Snape: the increased curiousity of Harry's life, the enjoyment of watching Harry suffer and humiliated, and the increasingly bad attitude his uncle now had. Harry noted critically that Uncle Vernon's hair was also more greasier than before. If he didn't know better, he would have thought it was Snape taking Polyjuice Potion. But Polyjuice Potion was illegal. And even Dumbledore would not let Snape risk the law, or would he? Dumbledore had disregarded the Ministry's order to not spread the word about Voldemort and had escaped from the Ministry once.

But would Dumbledore really risk a member of the Order of Phoenix to use an illegal disguise to follow and keep an eye on himself? No, Harry concluded. He wouldn't. And besides, he couldn't see a flask or any place Uncle Vernon could keep the Polyjuice Potion that an imposter would need, for Polyjuice Potion only lasts one hour. Even more to the point, Harry thought at an attempt to lighten the atmosphere in his mind, even Snape would not risk having to sleep with Aunt Petunia in the same bed. Harry realized that someone was talking to him. The voice sounded distant to him. He tried to identify what it was...

"Boy, answer me now!" It was Uncle Vernon.

"What?" Harry asked. What did Uncle Vernon want now?

"I told you to tell me what you were thinking about. Now tell me."

"Nah," Harry said, making his decision in a split second, "I'll take the tougher punishment."

Uncle Vernon's face turned red with anger. "Why you little-" but Harry heard no more. He was back in his own world again. He had already dismissed the possibility that Snape was trailing him in his Uncle's body, but would Dumbledore have anyone follow him still? Would he tell Mrs. Figg to still look after him? As Harry thought this, he felt a jolt of anger. Was it directed at Dumbledore? For making Harry seem like a little kid that still cannot take care of himself? Was it directed to Ron and Hermione? For not trying to stop Dumbledore? No. It was directed at himself. For not being grown up enough. For not having the knowledge to stand up to Voldemort without blind luck and overpowering fear. For not being able to avenge his parents and Sirius's death. He was weak. Harry made a vow that he would work hard from now on and not be just a weak little boy that needed to be looked after. Harry looked up suddenly and realized that they were in front of Uncle Vernon's car. Wordlessly, he entered the backseat after he heard the two beeps that signalled the unlocking of the car doors and slouched down in his seat still thinking. Harry was so deep in thought that he did not even hear Dudley's constant taunts about his 'freak' friends and his 'freak' school and _his_ lot.

  
  


Uncle Vernon glared at his nephew in the rearview mirror. Something was wrong with the stupid brat. I hope it is something horrible, he thought as he turned his thoughts back to driving to just narrowly miss the car ahead of him as it stopped to take a turn. Cursing, he turned on the car radio and found a station he liked. When he got back to the house, he would lock his nephew up in his room again and force him to write letters to _his lot_ that all said he was fine. Yes, Uncle Vernon was not as stupid as he looked, and he had not forgotten the ominous threat from that ugly _thing_ with the revolting turning eye as his nephew had thought. Uncle Vernon was shrewd. Closing the three open windows in the car, he flipped a few switches on the dashboard and the air conditioning roared to life. Smiling a cruel smile, he turned his attention back to driving, just in time to avoid a potentially disastrous car crash.

  
  


Harry vaguely heard the car radio go on. He was still deep in thought about Sirius and all the miserable things in his life; he was trying to pinpoint them to their source. No matter what problems he'd had in life, it all came down to Lord Voldemort, stupid Voldemort, Tom Marvolo Riddle. If it wasn't for Riddle, Harry would still have parents and would have had a normal life living happily with his family and maybe even have siblings. If it wasn't for Riddle, Harry wouldn't have been able to see thestrals and face death five times. If it wasn't for Riddle, Sirius would still be alive. If it wasn't for Riddle, he wouldn't have ever felt the Cruciatus Curse. If it wasn't for Riddle's very existence, Neville's parents wouldn't have been tortured to insanity. As he thought, Harry felt his mind begin to formulate every single wrong Voldemort had ever did to anyone in the world. Harry remembered the scene in Snape's pensieve. His father had said that he hated Snape just because he exists. Well, he, Harry, also hated Voldemort just because he exists. It was personal. Period. Every wrong and injustice done to his piteous, miserable life was because of Tom fucking Marvolo fucking Riddle. Under his breath, Harry mumbled, "Fuck you, sonafabitch."

  
  


Five hundred miles away, through legilency and Harry's mental connection to him, Lord Voldemort picked up the strong words Harry had said. "No one insults my mother and gets away with it, Potter," he breathed and smiled a sickening, sadistic smile. It was a pity that he could only pick up on Potter's insults to himself and his bloodline. Otherwise, the boy and his worthless mind would become useful. Lord Voldmort would not admit it to anyone else but himself, but he thought of Potter as an equal; a person just like him, whose blood is not totally pure and whose parents died when he was young. Hell, the boy even knows how to speak Parseltongue, Lord Voldemort thought. "Bring me Avery," he commanded to the nearest Death Eater. Someone was going to scream tonight while Lord Voldemort relieved himself of his anger.

  
  


Darkness was descending when the Dursleys and Harry finally reached number four, Privet Drive. While the Dursleys opened the car doors and got out, Harry Potter was _still_ deep in thought. Now, he was dreaming up the possible punishments his uncle might push upon him. Would he be locked in his bedroom, or possibly cupboard without his magic supplies and good and decent meals? Would he be forced to do a never ending list of chores in trade for meals? Would he be beaten repeatedly by his hot-headed uncle? Whatever the punishment turned out to be, Harry knew that he could take it. Being locked in a small space while starving to death was no longer a new experience for Harry. An endless list of chores would just take his mind of Sirius's death. Harry's mind had finally stopped reliving the Third Task in the Triwizard Tournament and was now constantly thinking about the Department of Mysteries. He was the cause of Sirius's death. If it wasn't for him, Sirius would still be tending to Buckbeak and not be lying dead. The guilt was slowly gnawing at Harry's heart. The final choice of punishment that Harry thought Uncle Vernon might use was beating him up, but he could take it. Any beating Uncle Vernon gave him could never rival Lord Voldemort's Cruciatus Curse. Suddenly, his vision flooded with light. Blinking, he realized that it was the garage light turning on, and that everyone else had already entered the house. Slowly, lethargically, Harry eased himself out of the car and slammed the door shut. He made his way towards the front door of Hell.

  
  


**PART II: [The House of Hell]**

Harry entered the familiar hallways of the place he called home. The absurd neatness of the house did not faze him in the least, although it would for a person who had never seen such an orderly house. As Tonks said when she was part of the Advance Guard, "it's a little _too_ clean." Harry walked purposely down the hall and up the stairs. He saw Aunt Petunia and Dudley already at the landing. Halfway up the stairway, Harry heard Uncle Vernon's voice calling to him from somewhere below. When he looked down, Uncle Vernon was standing at the bottom of the stairs beckoning to him with his hands. "What?" Harry asked aggressively before Uncle Vernon could open his big mouth to speak.

Uncle Vernon ignored his tone of voice. Harry could tell that this was a bad sign, for when Uncle Vernon ignored a chance to point out a flaw of Harry's, then it usually meant that he was extremely excited about something, so excited, in fact, that he could think of nothing else. Harry was right, unfortunately. "Because of your daring to bring - bring - bring-" Uncle Vernon paused, clearly at a loss for what to say. Eventually, he settled on the old standby: _your lot_. "_your lot_ to try to set us straight, I've decided on suitable punishment for you. Especially since you are an insolent brat who does not respect the people who gave shelter and clothing and food to you. At this, Harry could not repress a snort of disbelief. "What?" Uncle Vernon asked, confused.

"Yes," Harry began, "I do give you credit for letting me sleep in a tiny storage place for more than half my life, giving me clothes that Dudley could not fit into anymore, and giving me grapefruit slices at every mealtime. I believe, however, that all the chores that I've done for you should be more than enough to compensate for whatever you've spent on me."

Uncle Vernon's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do not use that tone of voice with me, boy," he saided in what he hoped was a dangerous voice, but was in fact to Harry, a complete failure.

"What tone of voice?" Harry asked, feigning confusion and ignorance because he knew it would incense his uncle. What the heck, he thought. If I'm going to be punished, might as well make it fun for me also.

"_That_ tone of voice," Uncle Vernon repeated. "You know what I'm talking about, boy."

"Sorry?" Harry asked. "When people ask you to explain something, for instance, in this case, 'that tone of voice', you do not explain the phrase exactly as it is. What I'm trying to get into your thick skull is that you don't explain 'that tone of voice' as 'that tone of voice' or '_that_ tone of voice' or whatever. You use simpler terms, terms that an _insolent brat_ would use and understand. Tsk, tsk. You could do with some elementary grammar lessons, Uncle Vernon. Do you understand?" Harry took particular satisfaction in saying the last question slowly, drawing it out so that Uncle Vernon would seem like a naughty child and Harry the controlled guardian.

"Don't be clever with me, boy," Uncle Vernon fought to control his voice, lest he wake Aunt Petunia, Dudley, or worse, one of the neighbors. "I know all that."

Harry smirked. "That's good to know, Uncle Vernon," he began earnestly in a sickly sweet schoolteacher voice. Harry had found that he was good at imitating voices ever since the incident with Peeves at the end of his first year. "Good to know that you might not need elementary grammar lessons after all. You just need to perform a small test. Repeat what you've learned tonight to me please."

"Sod off," Uncle Vernon said.

"What did you say? I can't hear you," Harry answered, drawing out the last part.

"Effing sod off."

"What? Too goody-goody to say the eff word?" Harry teased. With luck, he might just be able to escape hearing his punishment tonight.

Uncle Vernon turned red with embarassment. "Of course I can say it. Fucking sod off, willya?"

"I'd be glad to." And with that, Harry turned on his heels and marched up the stairs and into his room, closed the door, put down Hedwig and her cage, for he had carried her from the car when he got out, and sunk down onto his bed. With a start, Harry realized that he forgot to brush his teeth. But realizing that going to the bathroom meant the possibility of meeting Uncle Vernon, Harry decided to do it tomorrow. Besides, he thought. Uncle Vernon just locked the door from the outside. Harry looked out the window into the dark night. The sky was filled with shimmering stars. Suddenly, Harry caught sight of a yellow streak heading down towards the ground. It's bright tail illuminated the shroud of darkness.night sky. At first, Harry thought it was a comet. But comets were not visible at night. No, Harry thought, while slowly falling into a deep, dreamless slumber, the only one he was to have for a long time, he had learned about them in astronomy class. They were meteorites being heated up by the Earth's atmosphere. There was another name for it, although in Harry's present semi-conscious state, he could not remember it. It was the name of a broom, Ron's old broom. If he could just remember the name... Harry fell asleep wishing that he was with his parents. Then, he would not be the subject of the Dursleys torture.

  
  


**

|THE ALTERNATE UNIVERSE SECTION|

PART III: [A Weird Awakening]**

_Oooh, he looks just like I thought he would."  
"Yeah, I see what you mean. He looks exactly like James."  
"Except the eyes. Lily's eyes."  
- Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Elphias Doge in OoTP_

**RING!! RING!! RING!!** The alarm clock beside Harry Potter jerked to life. "I'm up, I'm up," Harry mumbled sleepily before falling back asleep again. Suddenly, he sat straight up in bed, eyes open, blinking at the sudden barrage of light that met his eyes. Wait a minute, he thought. I didn't set an alarm clock because I couldn't risk waking up the Dursleys and have them in an even worse mood than they are in now. Harry groped around for his glasses, found them, and put them on. Instantly, the room came into focus, and he was shocked.

What he saw was definitely not his room. At least, it wasn't his room back at the Dursleys, unless struck by some miraculous kindness, the Dursleys had redecorated his whole room last night, without waking him up, being the light sleeper that he was, a habit he had picked up and found quite useful, and it not even being his birthday. The whole business sounded fishy to him.

Suddenly, a memory of last night pushed itself into his mind clearly. Harry remembered seeing the meteorite shooting down to Earth. Wait, he thought. Shooting. A shooting star! That's what it was. Ron's old broom was a Shooting Star. A falling meteorite was a shooting star. And what do people do when they see shooting stars? They make a wish. Oh damn. Harry pinched himself to make sure that this was reality and not some fucked up dream. "You have gotta be shitting me," he murmured. Harry remembered his wish. It was to be with his parents. Then that must mean his parents were here! Quickly, he shot out of bed, glanced at the alarm clock, and ran out of his room, still in pajamas that he wasn't aware he was wearing. Outside his room was a long hall extending in both directions. Whatever house he was in, it was huge. Harry took a split second to decide which way to go and then dashed down the left hallway.

Harry saw the stairs ahead. He sprinted towards them. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small white blur shoot from the top of the staircase straight towards him. Harry jumped out of the way just in time as the white blue stopped to reveal a little girl dressed in white pajamas. "Watch where you're going!" he yelled at Harry. Harry stood there, a bewildered expression over his face. The girl asked with concern, "Are you alright? You look a little out of it."

This kid is concerned about me? Harry wondered. This kid, whom I've never met before in my life, is concerned about me. Something isn't right. Harry chose to be candor. "Who are you?"

"You all right, Harry? I mean, you don't have a fever or something, do you?"

Harry shook his head. "No fever that I know I have at this moment. Don't worry. You won't catch anything."

The girl brightened. "Oh, that's great. You'd better get ready. You're late. It's eight forty already and Mum's taking us to Diagon Alley to buy some stuff today at nine. So I'd hurry if I were you. By the way, have you seen Tom?"

Harry shook his head. Who the hell was Tom? "Oh. I was hoping that you would know where he was. You always do. Well, anyways, I would hurry if I were you. I want to go check out Quality Quidditch Supplies. But I'll bet you'll want to go to Fourish and Blotts."

"Am I a bookworm?" Harry asked, confused. Was this some sort of alternate dimension thing or was history just somehow changed?

"Well," the girl said, wrinkling her nose. "If you're asking for my opinion, I wouldn't say you're a bookworm. You just put the books ahead of Quidditch, although I don't see why."

"Really? Neither do I."

"Riggghhhttt, Harry. Look, you're really freaking me out here. Is this another prank or something?"

"Uh... no. I was just wondering, one more question, well, actually two more."

"Are they going to be as stupid as the last ones?"

"Probably," Harry said feeling embarassed.

"Oh well," she said, "I might as well humor you. Shoot away."

"Am I on the Gryffindor Quidditch team?"

"Well, yeah. Duh! You're Chaser, even though Dad wishes you were Seeker like him."

"I'm a Chaser?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Well, duh! Look, we don't have much time left. You overslept and you still need to eat breakfast. Just finish with the stupid questions. I don't want to be late. They have this new top-of-the-line broom called the Firebolt. It's so cool, but it's more for Seekers. Too bad I play Chaser and Tom plays Keeper. Oh well."

"Ok, ok. Here's a stupid one for the collection. What's your surname?"

The girl looked at him like he was crazy. "Now that was a really stupid question. Potter. What else? You aren't under Polyjuice Potion, right?"

Harry assured her he wasn't and watched in a daze as she ran off, then he started down the stairs, musing over what he just learned. The girl must be his sister, and Tom must be his brother. Harry reached the bottom and looked around, hoping to catch sight of the dining room. Luck was in his favor. It took only a moment or two for Harry to smell the delicious aroma of breakfast. Harry followed the smell to the kitchen, and there, right in front of him, was his mum. "Mum?" he asked, not believing what was happening.

His mother turned around. Harry recognized her from Hagrid's photo album present. This was definitely his mum, who's been dead for over fourteen years. She, however, seemed to have noticed nothing out of the ordinary. "Oh Harry dear, you're late. We have to be leaving soon. I promised to get some beetle eyes for your father. He's out of town today, though. While Lily Potter bustled around the dining room and kitchen, Harry stared at her in wonder. She was everything he had hoped his mum to be: beautiful, kind, and considerate of others. "Here, you go Harry. Have you seen Tom?" Lily asked, handing Harry some waffles with honey. Harry shook his head. Lily sighed in exasperation. "Tom always seems to get lost around here. He'll turn up, though. He always does in the end. Tell me if you see him, dear. Oh there you are!"

A boy maybe a year or two younger than Harry walked in yawning widely. "Mornin' mum, Harry." He sat down and took the plate of waffles that was offered to him. "I'm going to check out Zonko's today and then go meet up with Emily at Quality Quidditch Supplies."

"That sounds great, dear," Lily said distractedly. "EMILY!" she called. "We're leaving!" Harry, who had just finished his breakfast, stood up and wondered why he had never noticed a Zonko's Joke Shop in Diagon Alley. He mentally shrugged. Perhaps it had something to do with this alternate dimension thing.

"What are you going to be doing today at the Alley, Harry?" It was Tom.

"Oh, I'll probably just check out Quality Quidditch Supplies and that Firebolt," Harry said offhandedly. Then, upon noticing Tom goggling at him, added a self-conscious, "What?"

"You? Going to Quality Quidditch Supplies? I thought you were going to Flourish and Blotts! Say, Harry, where did you get that scar?"

"What scar?" Harry asked.

"The one on your forehead that's shaped like a lightening bolt," Tom said. "Don't tell me that you haven't noticed it yet!"

"Oh you mean _this_ scar," Harry said slowly, trying to quickly think up an explanation for it. "I tripped and fell. That's all." He finished quite lamely.

"Yeah?" Tom said skeptically. "I was sure that you didn't have that scar when I said goodnight to you yesterday night." Harry's heart started racing, but then Tom added, "I could have missed it though... It was dark. Ok. I believe your story, as strange as it sounds."

Harry let out a breath that he didn't know he had been holding. "Yeah, that's great," he said smiling at Tom.

Harry heard the sound of Emily coming down the stairs. "Pretty loud, eh?" he commented.

"Yeah, very," Tom said. "But that's the way she is: loud and annoying."

"I heard that!"

Tom rolled his eyes at Harry. 

"See?" he whispered.

Tom fell quiet when Lily and Emily came into the living room. 

"Ok, children," Lily said breathlessly. "Let's go. _Incendio!_" She grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and spread it over the fire. Instantly, the flames turned emerald green. Lily stepped into it and said clearly, "Diagon Alley," and she was gone. Tom went next followed by Emily. Finally it was Harry's turn to go. He repeated what the others had done. Harry got a mouthful of soot as he stepped in and managed to choke out, "Dia-Dia-gon Alley," and he was spinning rapidly through many fireplaces until he fell out of one.

Oh no! was Harry's first reaction. He recognized the place he had come out of. It was Knockturn Alley. Harry, noticing that he was still unnoticed, quickly ran and shut himself into the nearest cabinet. Through a small crack, he could make out someone walking in. It was- it was- it was _Ron?_

Wizard  
To Be Continued...


End file.
